


There is something about Tony

by who_is_small



Category: A Bit of Fry and Laurie
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_is_small/pseuds/who_is_small
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Tony gets fired, Control pines. Dreams of coffee are compelling him to act. Will Simon the pigeon save the day?</p><p>Some YT links, should reference be needed:<br/><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i18bH4XCmHw">First C/T sketch</a><br/><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltJ4mqYIr-E">Second sketch</a><br/><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=avuUhTn5d7I">Simon the Pigeon</a><br/><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CN03KaNp80o">Goodbye Tony</a><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	There is something about Tony

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sophrosune (polishmyarmor)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polishmyarmor/gifts).



Two cups of coffee used to be all that Control needed to sit on the top of the world, even though the top of the world was, in this case, only as high as the sixth floor of an office building near the St Giles's Circus. One cup at elevenses and the other one at teatime, which, in British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS), was a code name for four PM (hush-hush). One fragrant cup for each of Tony Murchison's blue, blue eyes.

Control sighed and toyed moodily with the blue folder containing top-secret documents on his desk. As always at this time, when the small hand of the office clock crept near the number eleven and the large hand was not far behind, he felt a sort of a hollow ache in his otherwise highly professional, emotionally detached breast.

It appeared that the capable and unnervingly polite master of all British spies had one Achilles' heel after all. How lucky that nobody knew! The whole Soviet Bloc was crammed with cunning villains, who have been for years trying to uncover any weakness which would help them to take the starch out of Control. Ha. As if.

Control fastidiously guarded the secret of his bosom. But every day at eleven o'clock, it was all he could do not to say "B'oh!" with a bitter smile.

Luckily, there was always work to do. But this morning, even the news about the latest cheeky horseplay of KGB agents somehow could not take his mind off the past. It did not help that the blue colour of the folder tended to return his thoughts to Tony's eyes. Drat it. Valerie meant to cheer up the office with the touch of blue, Control remembered bitterly. Well, he was going to tell her to go back to the buff-coloured ones and no mistake.

It would not do to torture himself now that Tony was gone from his life!

Unfortunately, the masters from the White Hall decided to cut the budget on spying. The position of subsection chief of the East German and related satellites desk was swept away by the wind of change blowing from Russia and Tony had to be fired. Even after new positions opened in the agents ranks, Control did not have the courage to contact him again. He had heard that Tony was flourishing in his new career. And the memory of that last afternoon still had the power to make Control flinch sadly. Just like it did now.

After the flinching was finished, Control's eyes misted over as the vivid memory flooded his mind.

_"Hello, Control," said Tony, interrupting Control's feverish pacing._

_"Tony. It's you." The trusting eyes of the soon to be ex-subsection chief of the East German and related satellites desk pierced Control's heart and after the firing was done, they stole its bleeding tattered remains and carried them away with them. _

Control blinked several times and blew his nose.

"Now now," he reprimanded himself sternly, "There was quite enough of that."

And, as always, he was right. Tony Murchison was now but a distant ray of light in the sunny past! As, regrettably, was the finest cup of coffee the head of the SIS ever tasted. Ah, well. The forces of the enemy would certainly not wait with their sly shenanigans until he stopped pining like Heracles after Hylas, lost between the nymphs.

Control opened the blue folder again and concentrated on his work.

There was a pause.

After which, from the direction of the half-opened window came a lonely burbling of a pigeon. "Tony," he seemed to sing, "Tony blurrb-chison."

Control snapped the folder closed and looked at the offending winged bipedal vertebrate with reprimand in his eyes. "Et tu, Simon?" he said in Latin. Simon the pigeon returned the look and flapped his wings carelessly, for he did not understand the dead language.

Control sighed and rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. This would not do. He had to act.

The greater part of the afternoon was spent with Control muttering to himself, counting on fingers and crumpling page after page, flinging them away.

At four o'clock, the office looked like a blossoming apple orchard after a heavy storm. White balls of paper covered the whole floor. Control was still writing feverishly, eyes focused, nose smudged by ink and his mind flying just as fast as his pen. He finally straightened in triumph, clutching the finished poem in his hand. Here was his heart, poured out in dexterous tangle of words and rhymes! This was his tool, with which he would, hopefully, convey the secrets of his vascular organ to the one who held it captive.

"Well, Simon," said Control to the pigeon, tying the rolled up message to the bird's leg, "now you have the opportunity to make up for your little faux-pas." Simon stared at him, but did not protest. The memory of his master falling down from the sixth floor was still vivid in his little brain. He took off, wings flapping heavily, to bring the message to Tony Murchison.

Control paced the floor of his office.

It was four thirty.

Control tried to create a mental barrier. The success was moderate. 

After fifteen minutes, it was quarter to five.

Thoughts about coffee and Tony tugged on the edge of his mind.

The minutes ticked by.

Then it was five o'clock.

Control stopped his pacing and put a hand over his heart. He closed his eyes, trying to squelch the feeling of disappointment, which was falling on him like a ton of bricks in slow motion.

"Hello, Control," sounded from the direction of the door behind his back. He turned.

"Oh, TONY," the head of the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) cried happily, "it's YOU."

"Indeed it is, Control," smiled Tony Murchison, while the sun peeked through the clouds over the St Giles's Circus and shone in his beautiful blue eyes. "Thank you for your poem. I must say, Control, I was quite pleasantly surprised upon receiving it." He blushed and shuffled closer. Taking a slip of paper and a few feathers out of his pocket, he coughed and read:

_"I have no love for women_   
_ With women I am through!_   
_ I only love my country,_   
_ Fresh coffee beans - and You._   
_ Severely vexed and nervous_   
_ I write this heartfelt plea:_   
_ Come back to Secret Service._   
_ I´ll pledge my heart to Thee._   
_ Come back to active duty,_   
_ To conquer eastern spies,_   
_ And, blinded by your beauty,_   
_ The England Brave shall rise._   
_ Come back to spy on Russians,_   
_ I beg you on my knee._   
_ I miss our smart discussions._   
_ Espresso, You... and Me._

_Yours Truly_  
  
Control  
Head of the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS).“

He looked at Control and smiled again. "I have to say," he had to say, "that I have indeed suspected that you might have harboured feelings deeper than friendship in regard to me, which would requite those flourishing in my breast, Control… but it is nice to have it confirmed by you."

Control swallowed thickly and approached the erstwhile subsection chief of the East German and related satellites desk with his heart beating the Fred Astaire step sequence. After all this nervousness, anguish and waiting, it took, surprisingly, but a little tilt of head and his lips finally met those of Tony Murchison.

He tasted like the best coffee Control ever had.


End file.
